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oil,” he said. He paid no attention to the burst of chirpy, chattering protest on the other end of the line as he calmly hung up the phone.
    Then he turned to see Jessie staring at him from the hallway. She had a shocked, annoyed expression on her face. He smiled blandly back at her.
    “It's really very easy to say no, Jessie.”
    “So I see. I'll be sure to remember your technique,” she snapped.

CHAPTER TWO

    O f course it was no problem at all for people like Sam Hatchard to say no, Jessie thought, still seething as she opened her menu in the crowded downtown restaurant. The Sam Hatchards of this world did not worry about other people's feelings or fret overmuch about what might happen when one casually said no.
    Hatch was not one to concern himself with the fact that poor Alison was new in the business of selling stocks and bonds, a woman struggling to make it in a ruthless, cold-blooded, male-dominated world. He would not care that Alison desperately needed to build up her commissions if she was to hold on to her job at Caine, Carter, and Peat. He would not be bothered by the fact that Alison was a personal friend of Jessie's.
    Jessie looked up, feeling Hatch's cool, emotionless topaz eyes on her. He was sitting at the opposite side of the small table, politely responding to a question from a beaming George Galloway. But even as he said something very intelligent and shrewd to George about long-term interest rates, Jessie knew part of Hatch's mind was on the problem of how to handle Jessie Benedict. She was, after all, a top priority at the moment. Almost as important as interest rates.
    Jessie shivered and knew that only part of the atavistic thrill that flashed down her spine was dread. The other part was pure feminine anticipation. She scowled, feeling like an idiot, and concentrated on her menu. George Galloway was an old-fashioned kind of man. Hatch had, therefore, selected one of the few restaurants downtown that still featured a wide variety of beef on the menu. Jessie preferred seafood.
    “Tell me, Jessie, dear,” Ethel Galloway said brightly, “how is your mother? I haven't seen Lilian in ages.”
    Jessie, searching through the short list of fish dishes at the end of the menu, looked up and smiled. Ethel was in her late fifties, a plump, pleasant-faced, grandmotherly woman. She was an excellent complement to her bluff, down-to-earth husband. Jessie had known them both for years.
    “Mom's fine,” Jessie said. “She and Connie are really excited about expanding their interior-design firm. Business is booming.”
    Ethel chuckled. “Oh, yes. The design business. What do they call their firm? ExCellent Designs or something like that, isn't it? In honor of the fact that they're both ex-wives of Vincent's?”
    Jessie grinned ruefully. “That's right. They always claim they found a lot more in common with each other than they ever found with my father. Dad agrees.”
    “And your half-sister?” Ethel continued. “Little Elizabeth. She's still doing well in school?”
    Jessie's smile widened enthusiastically. She felt a rush of pride, the way she always did when she talked about Elizabeth. “Definitely. She's determined to go into scientific research of some kind. She's just finished a fascinating project dealing with the chemical analysis of a toxic-waste dump for her school's science fair. Can you imagine? Toxic-waste chemistry and she's only twelve years old.”
    Ethel gave Hatch a meaningful glance. “Sounds more like the proud mother than a half-sister, doesn't she? You have to understand that Jessie has had a big hand in raising Elizabeth. Connie and Lilian have been very busy with their design business for the past few years and I do believe the child spends more time with Jessie than with her mother.”
    “I see.” Hatch studied Jessie with an unreadable expression. “I imagine Jessie would make a very good mother.”
    Jessie felt herself turn an embarrassing shade of red, but the Galloways